


A Funeral

by WinterTheWriter



Series: Building Happily Ever After [9]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Doctor Who (2005), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Crying, Funeral, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Relationships, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-08-31 07:20:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8569411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterTheWriter/pseuds/WinterTheWriter
Summary: The funeral of James Buchanan Barnes.





	1. Greetings.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm late! I know I'm late! So this update will be a multichapter update because I just didn't finish it and I didn't have anything else to fill in, and I wanted to post SOMETHING. 
> 
> Obviously, I would not kill off Bucky without giving him the respect of a long, detailed funeral. If I finish chapter 2 before next Monday, I will post it, but no promises.
> 
> Enjoy, read MoT if you haven't, get your tissues ready, etc.

Steve plans his funeral. He dictates every detail, sternly but never rudely, even now. His eyes are dull and red throughout it all, but he never wavers, never cracks. Neither him nor Koschei bring up just how tightly he’s gripping Koschei’s hand. 

To Koschei’s shock, Bucky does not have a military funeral. Steve says Bucky never liked being a soldier — it was always something he did out of duty and necessity, but he hated killing, hated being like the bullies he’s always protecting Steve from. And after being turned into a killing machine, and dying in battle, in someone else’s anger plugged into his mind…Bucky wouldn’t want any association with the military. Instead of honors and uniforms and elaborate ceremony, the entire affair is understated and old-fashioned. There’s no priest (“Buck’s always been an atheist, ever since we were little,” Steve explained), and Steve’s the only person who really knew him besides Natasha, but Nat only ever knew the Winter Soldier, so the only people in attendance are the Avengers and Fury, along with Peggy and her niece. Peggy’s in a wheelchair, but even now she shines with power and grace. 

Koschei’s very happy that his boyfriend has always had good taste. 

Steve and Koschei hover near the door as they wait for guests to pile in, Steve’s arms wrapped around Koschei’s waist from behind as he rests his chin on the top of his head, holding on like a limpet. When Peggy is wheeled in, Steve steps away to kiss Sharon’s cheek and lean down to hug Peggy as close as he can. His eyes are wet when he pulls back and Koschei grabs his hand immediately. 

“You must be Koschei,” Peggy croons, wheeling herself closer to him as Steve and Sharon make awkward small-talk. Koschei nods, and he goes to shake her hand but he can’t without letting go of Steve’s, but just as he’s about to explain this, she shakes her head and mouthes, “Don’t let go; I understand,” and Koschei just might fall for this woman himself. 

“It’s an honor to meet you in person, Agent Carter.”

“Oh hush, darling. We’ve both kissed the same man — certainly that’s grounds for a first name basis?” Her eyes twinkle in amusement as Koschei coughs lightly, cheeks blushing, but he’s smiling a little. 

“Right you are. Peggy.” 

Peggy smiles and grabs his free hand, tugging him down. He leans willingly, and she whispers into his ear. “You keep taking good care of him, hmmm? My time is almost up; he’s not as strong as he’d like people to think. Even now, I worry about him.” Koschei’s hearts clench and he nods.

“I will never stop taking good care of him — that I swear to you,” he whispers back. 

“Good boy,” she replies, letting him go and patting his hand fondly. 

“Do I have to worry about my ex stealing my boyfriend?” Steve jokes mildly, letting go of Koschei’s hand in favor of wrapping his arm around his waist. All four of them laugh. Peggy’s ends in a cough and Koschei kisses Steve’s cheek to distract him. 

Sharon notices, and with a sad look in Koschei’s direction, she grabs onto the handles of Peggy’s wheelchair. “Maybe we should find our seats, Aunt Peggy…?” she asks. Peggy looks up and back to smile at her, far too knowing, and then looks back at Steve.

“Right you are, darling. Steve, do be kind to yourself, yes? Take advantage of the man you’ve scored. You could do with less Americans in your life,” she winks. Steve blushes and chuckles, nodding his head in agreement.

“I promise, doll.”

Peggy’s expression sobers for a moment and she swallows thickly, leaning forward in her chair. “He loved you, Steve. No matter what they made him think, he’s always loved you. You didn't fail him.” Steve’s arm trembles around Koschei’s waist and Koschei rubs his back soothingly. He watches Steve’s face closely, watches the tears he struggles to hold back and his hearts ache for him. Something must show on his face because Peggy’s expression softens the moment she glances at him. “Sharon, love, let’s sit in the front row. You have /no/ idea how irritating aisles are in these things.” She gestures to her chair and Sharon smiles and wheels her off, mouthing “good luck” in Koschei’s direction. 

When they’re alone, Koschei shifts to stand in front of Steve. “Are you alright, my love? Would you like to go somewhere private for a few moments?” he murmurs, pressing slow, comforting kisses to Steve’s shoulder. Steve shakes his head and just hugs Koschei close, face buried into his hair, tears cold on Koschei’s scalp. Koschei shushes him softly and hugs him back, as tightly as he can without hurting him. He wishes, stupidly, for a moment, that he were taller than Steve so he could hold him properly, let him be the small one again, safe and secure in Koschei’s arms. 

If Steve minds, though, he doesn’t comment. 

“Didn’t know they were related. I flirted with her once — that’s weird,” Steve mumbles into his hair, voice thick with tears. A short laugh bubbles from Koschei’s chest and he just shakes his head, hugging Steve closer. 

“You flirted with your ex’s niece. Must admit, that /is/ pretty weird.” 

Steve’s answering, pitiful attempt at a laugh is more of a sob before he inhales deeply, pulls back from the hug, and composes himself. Koschei hates that. He hates the face Steve has to put on for the public. He wants to whisk him away somewhere private and quiet and let him cry and scream all he needs. Still, though, needs must. Koschei flashes a small, reassuring smile at Steve and leans up to peck his lips as he thumbs away the tears that leaked down Steve’s cheeks. “You can do this, Steve. I’m right here, and you can do this,” Koschei murmurs. 

Steve barks out a quick, mirthless laugh and looks away, leaning into Koschei’s touch. “Damn funeral hasn’t even started yet,” he scoffs. 

“Oi, you’re doing /fine./ Come on, let’s get our seats.”

“You won’t let go of my hand?”

“Not for a second, my love. Not for a second.”


	2. Natasha.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha's speech.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, surprise, it's actually gonna be four chapters because dammit, I really love Bucky and my characters have things to say about him. This chapter is Natasha, next chapter will be Peggy, last will be Steve and the end of the funeral. I'm going to try to stagger it out so that the last chapter posts on Monday so you'll get one more off-schedule update before the regular ones resume. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Natasha speaks first. She looks stoic and unmoved but grief sits plainly in her eyes, not quite watering, not yet, but not entirely dry either. Her hands grip the podium tightly as she hunches over it, not meeting the gaze of any individual person in the audience. “I did not know this man as he deserved to be known,” she starts, sure and solid. “When I knew him, he was the Winter Soldier. He was deadly and terrifying and cold. He was too cruel in his trainings, no matter how good they made you, and he made you feel stalked whenever he was in the room.” 

Next to him, Steve stiffens, lips pursed into a thin line and his hand squeezing Koschei’s tightly. Koschei leans closer just to whisper, “Wait,” into his ear. He and Natasha may not be close, but he knows her enough to know she wouldn’t waste her time showing up to this funeral at all, let alone speak, if she had nothing nice to say about the man it honored. Natasha meets Steve’s eyes for a fraction of a second before she flits her gaze away again, clearing her throat lightly before continuing. 

“But even so, even beyond that, I could always sense a…softness, in him. His edges were sharp and serrated but that side of him was never truly directed at you. Well, unless you pissed him off before coffee.” The audience laughs in that quiet, slightly-forced way audiences at funerals always laugh. “I was so young then, and he protected me. He protected everyone in his charge. We were soldiers in training but at times it felt almost like a family. A foster family, I guess. I remember once, I fell and twisted my ankle, hard. First real injury I’d caused myself. I was 16, maybe 17, but it hurt like something was killing me, and I was crying like I was a decade younger. 

“The Wint— /James/, he knelt down in front of me and I was terrified for a moment. Thought he was going to break it, show me what real pain was. Or maybe yell at me and make me walk on it back to the dorms. Instead, he just — gently, metal hand and all — took my ankle and made sure it wasn’t sprained or anything, before he wiped away my tears and said, ‘You will be okay, little spider. This ain’t nothing you can’t handle.’” Natasha pauses, then. Bites into her lower lip and squeezes her eyes shut tightly. Koschei sees her inhale deeply, sees Clint shift like he’s about to stand out of the corner of his eye, but then she just straightens up, looks ahead, and continues like nothing ever happened. He admires her so much in that moment he wants to clap. 

“Did you catch that? Ain’t. We were Russian. We spoke Russian. We used Russian slang. But he broke that for the first time and spoke to me in English, with this city twang I’d never heard before — until a certain blonde super soldier introduced himself to me —, and he said it with the softest eyes I’d seen him ever have. It was in that moment I knew this man wasn’t the unflappable machine we were raised to think he was. 

“And he had many more moments of kindness after that. And I’m telling you all this because now, now that I know what /happened/, I know that James Buchanan Barnes was one of the strongest men alive, because even while he was being brainwashed into a killer and tortured on the other side of the globe from his home, he still bothered to try to break free from that trauma, just for a few moments, to tell a young girl that she’d be okay. Or help a boy get over his stutter. Or comfort someone after they heard their parents died. Or any of the other countless, invisible acts of kindness this man gave to us when no one gave any to him.

“I will never know him as Bucky. But I will /always/ know him as the man who was kind to me when kindness was considered weakness. They may have wanted him to be a monster, but dammit, they failed, because to me he was a hero. Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (BTW, there's a pretty decent number of y'all but you're so quiet! Please do drop me a comment on any of my MoT stories -- it's very hard to feel encouraged to write for a pairing so rare you literally invented it, and I could use the boost if you like what you read! Thank you. xx)


	3. Peggy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy's speech.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so far so good re: updating this to completion by Monday. I'm a bit worried I might not be able to get the last one out by then because -- random RL info -- I'm a bartender at a stuffy country club and scheduled to work all weekend (including today), and I have four projects due for school next week. But! I will try my best. Thank you for your kind words, all, and I'm glad you're enjoying this pain with me.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> (P.S. Piece of trivia no one asked for: Koschei's name is pronounced KOH-shee. Like, K, the exclamation "oh!," and the word "she" put together. His last name is "SAY-ta." Yay trivia!)

Peggy stands at the podium. 

It obviously takes a lot of effort, and her wheelchair rests a foot away from her lest it get too difficult, but she stands and she holds her back straight and her head high, regarding the audience as if daring them to even /think/ about asking her to sit down. Koschei really, really likes this woman. He tells Steve this, and Steve blushes with a little smile and kisses Koschei’s temple. At some point during Natasha’s speech, Steve had let go of Koschei’s hand in lieu of wrapping his arm around his shoulders, pulling him in close. Koschei hadn’t so much as looked up at the change; he knows what a cling is when he feels it. 

Peggy clears her throat delicately, adjusts the mic for a moment, before she nods — seemingly to herself, maybe to Sharon’s encouraging look from the front row — and begins to speak. “Back in the day,” she intones, “Bucky here was known as the handsome man my almost-boyfriend stared at a bit too much.” Steve groans good-naturedly as everyone (including Koschei) laughs, hiding his face into Koschei’s shoulder. Peggy winks at them. “Nowadays, said almost-boyfriend stares at another handsome man /far/ more than a ‘bit’ too much,” she jokes. Now Koschei’s blushing, but he’s smiling too, grateful for the short reprieve from all the tension. After a moment she sobers, smile melting at the edges until it’s an almost stern frown. 

“I only met him once, truthfully. Everything during the War was so…crowded, so very busy, and for most of it, James was a P.O.W. in Germany. After that, we had our meeting, and then, well.” She clears her throat again and looks down, the briefest break in composure before she stumbles past whatever she was going to say and continues. “But I knew him. I knew him from the way my Steve would talk about him. And I say this with no jealousy or bitterness whatsoever — Steve loved me. Loves me still, albeit perhaps a bit differently now. But the love he had for his Bucky was so…pure, so all-encompassing and golden, that I found myself falling for the man just a bit just from hearing the tone of Steve’s voice when he spoke of him. It was the kind of love that kept me up at night questioning how it could /possibly/ be taboo when it was so /good./ 

“According to Steve, Bucky was devilishly handsome — really, dear, I do hope you’ve gotten better with subtlety nowadays as that /was/ verbatim — and sharp as a tack, sarcastic beyond belief but the kindest, most caring fellow a man could know. He protected Steve, loved him and helped him, but he was never patronizing. He never put himself above anyone, even those he naturally outmanned, for lack of a modern term. And oh, how Steve’s eyes would light up during these stories,” Peggy sighs, her voice light and wistful. Steve’s arm around Koschei tightens and Koschei presses into his side, arm squeezed around his waist and between the back of the bench. 

“When we met, I expected a superhero of a man. Pretty ironic, considering who I was planning on dancing with. Who I met was no superhero, but rather just an ordinary, freedom-loving soldier who loved Steve Rogers so plainly and so intensely that I wanted to slap them both and tell them to just /get on with it./ He was indeed devilishly handsome and witty and kind, but those traits are not unique to that one man. What made Bucky so special was how special he made those he loved feel, even if he was on the other side of the world. It was an honor to witness that. And after the accident, I admit I felt Bucky’s apparent loss more keenly than I let on, if more for Steve’s sake than my own. 

“So what it all boils down to is this: Bucky and I were never close enough to be friends. What I knew of him was largely tall-tale and one memorable occasion where he pretended to be jealous of Steve, but was instead so painfully, obviously jealous of me. And what I know of him now is mostly the same, with but one key addition. Steve,” Peggy starts, looking straight at him with raised brow. “If he were alive right now, you would have two gorgeous boyfriends instead of one. And he would slap you silly for blaming yourself for /anything/, even for a second.” Steve inclines his head in acknowledgement and shifts in his seat, resting his cheek on Koschei’s head. Koschei smiles slightly at Peggy, who grins back. 

With an unspeakable grace and apparently ease, she suddenly steps to the side and drops into her wheelchair, letting out a sigh of obvious relief as she situates herself. Every muscle in her body looks instantly more relaxed and Koschei wonders just how much pain standing for that long caused her. His hearts ache. She doesn’t let anyone comment on it, instead resting her hand on the smooth wood of Bucky’s casket and addressing it instead of the audience. “Rest in peace, Sergeant Barnes. You were the greatest man I never got to know.” 

When she wheels herself back to her seat, Koschei catches something like a tear glinting off her cheek.

It must’ve been a trick of the light.


	4. Steve.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's speech.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seven minutes past midnight. Dammit, so close. Oh well. Here's the last chapter everyone! This concludes the abnormal update schedule. (Not really, I might write something for Thanksgiving because I'm a slut for tropes, but we'll see.) New sequel to be posted Monday, as usual. I hope you all enjoyed this, and enjoy this chapter, because I cried like a baby while writing it.

Steve goes last. 

He wanted to go last. He asked and everything, like someone was going to tell him no. 

And yet, even still, Koschei has to help him stand. Steve leans into him heavily, but his face is composed almost sternly, brows furrowed and lips in a thin line. Koschei murmurs words of comfort into his ear as they slowly make their way to the podium, each phrase being answered with a curt nod of Steve’s head. “Do you want me to stay up here with you?” Koschei whisper-asks.

“No,” Steve rasps back, just as quiet. “Just…be ready.” With a nod and quick kiss to his jaw, Koschei takes his seat. 

The room is dead silent while Steve prepares himself, shifting his weight and taking a few deep breaths. With the others, everyone was still quiet, but there’s something heavier now, something deeper. Everyone knows what Bucky was to Steve. Neither of them exactly hid it, or at least not very well. Steve swallows thickly and shuts his eyes, and when he opens them again, they’re red and shining and Koschei almost jolts up there and then. “So, uh,” he starts shakily, a nervous perversion of a laugh leaving him, “I tried to write a speech. Y’know, something to practice and…prepare…um…,” Steve trails off again, grimacing, and he looks down at the podium. Someone behind Koschei coughs. 

“Anyways,” he continues, looking back up with a pained attempt at a smile. “I never really got around to that. It was…words don’t…god. I’m usually not this bad at public speaking, I promise,” he jokes. 

No one laughs, including him. 

“Yeah,” Steve mutters, mostly to himself with a slow shake of his head. “Just…thank you all for coming. I know most of you never met him, or never met /him/, but it…it means a lot to me that you’ve all come to show your support. I know we have a lot of busy schedules and things to do. I know Bucky’d be grateful too. If he were, y’know….” He falters but this time he doesn’t seem to recover, hands clenched into fists on the podium. He bows his head and from his seat, Koschei sees a tear fall from it. “/Fuck/!” Steve curses out sharply, right into the mic, and everyone jumps. 

It’s not like no one’s ever heard the Captain curse but it’s always rare, it’s always to get a point across. And in Koschei’s case, he’s come to associate it with pleasure, stolen, intimate moments with a side of Steve only he gets to see. 

Silence prevails once more. Koschei gets ready to stand. Just before he can, Steve looks up again and the bravado and all the composure is gone, leaving behind the tear-streaked expression of a heartbroken man. Steve lets out a sort of strangled sob before clearing his throat and speaking once more. “He was my best friend,” he grits out, higher pitched than he was a few minutes ago. “He was, God, he was everything to me. He saved my life because he wanted to. He didn’t pity me or want anything back or…he just…he loved me. He loved me like it was the most natural thing in the world and I loved him back the same way and….” He sighs shakily. 

“What breaks my heart more than anything is that /none of you/ got the chance to know him like I did. You knew Sergeant Barnes or the Winter Soldier but only /I/ got to know Bucky. Only I have years of solid proof that he was worth every fight I fought for him. And I had a chance to bring that man back. I had a chance to save him properly for /once/ in our stupid, nonsense lives and /again/ I let him down. Again I let him fall. /God/, he must’ve felt so alone,” he sniffles, lower lip quivering as he hastily wipes at his eyes. Koschei’s hearts break at the sight of him, but he knows this is important. He knows Steve has to get this out, can’t be coddled and shooed away like a child at the first sign of upset. Sometimes breaking apart is healthy. 

He knows that better than anyone. 

“I-I…I know I shouldn’t blame myself, but I do. Because if I’d been better at tracking him, I’d’ve found him sooner, got him help, got him /back/, and you all could see what a beautiful, magnificent man he was. And then I /would/ have two boyfriends.” Steve lets out a watery, mirthless laugh, but when he looks at Koschei, his eyes are full of unmistakeable love. Koschei blows him a kiss and wipes away his own tears. “But I didn’t. I didn’t do it. I couldn’t find him in time. And because of that, the idea that James Buchanan Barnes was a good person will always be hearsay, something that two or three people agree on from experience but everyone else just has to /trust/ because we say so.   
“He must’ve known that. He must’ve…he….” This time, something is different about the way he loses his words. Koschei leans forward. The last shreds of Steve’s self-control are tearing away in front of all of them. “Oh my god, he died believing he was a monster. He died believing /I/ thought he was a monster. Oh god Bucky, I’m so sorry, I’m so /sorry/, I can’t believe I failed you, I love you so much oh /god please come back/,” Steve sobs, wrapping his arms around himself and letting his forehead down until it presses against the podium, and Koschei’s up and by his side like a shot. He shushes him softly, coaxes him to turn and hold onto him instead. Steve does so almost immediately and desperately, and Koschei leads him back to their seats, hugging him as close as he can and rocking him gently. 

Steve regains his control quicker than he should’ve, in a way that’s obviously because he’s still putting the comfort of everyone else above his own. When he settles, face pressed into Koschei’s neck and arms vice-tight around his waist, he mutters a “sorry” against his skin.

Once more, there is silence. 

And then, well, there’s really nothing else to do. There’s no body to bury, no ashes to scatter. The whole thing was more of a memorial service than anything else. And although they technically /should/ stay behind to say goodbye to everyone, have a bite to eat with them in the catering room, Koschei is itching to get Steve behind closed doors so he can comfort him without any prying eyes. One look at the muted, closed-off expression on Steve’s face tells him he’s not alone. And so when people start to pile out to get food, murmuring quietly to each other, some of them glancing back to spare Steve a pitying look, Koschei helps Steve to his feet and looks around for the easiest escape route. 

Peggy catches Koschei’s eye and nods at the back door behind the podium’s stage. She smiles sadly and mouths, “go,” at him and Koschei gives her the most grateful smile he can muster, making a mental note to send a nice bouquet of flowers to her retirement home as soon as he can. With gentle words of encouragement, he leads Steve to the door, and off they go. 

~

“I love you, you know,” Steve mumbles, two hours later. They’re both in bed, stuffy suits abandoned for their softest pajamas. Unlike their usual position, this time Koschei holds Steve, who has his face buried into Koschei’s chest and their legs tangled together. The words are his first in an hour and a half other than incoherent muttering between his heart-wrenching cries, so Koschei starts a little before he settles, smoothing his fingers through Steve’s hair.

“Of course I know that, darling. I love you too.” 

“I just mean that, well…we were just at a funeral for my not-really-ex. Who I am still in love with. And probably always will be.”

“Yes, I recall,” Koschei replies, confused. Steve picks up his head and looks at him, brows furrowed. 

“Well, you’re not…jealous? Upset?” he asks. Koschei laughs lightly and shakes his head, kissing Steve’s temple. 

“I think I’d be pretty bloody awful if I saw how heartbroken and destroyed you are about this and got /jealous./ Besides, I’m too old for jealousy, I think. Especially given the cirumstances. You have had a very long life before me — it would be heartbreaking if I were the first person you loved, or who loved you back. I do not need to be your first, and I do not even need to be your last, should your mind ever change. I just need you to be happy and safe.” 

Steve smiles a little at him and leans up to kiss him softly, pulling away just enough to speak. “My mind’s not gonna change. Ever. I love Bucky and I always will, but I love you just as much, and I always will. He made my past worth living — and now you’re doing the same with my future.” 

“Darling, you do not need to comfort or reassure me, especially not right now. But…thank you. Thank you. I love you so much,” Koschei whispers, cupping his cheek and stroking it with his thumb. “I’m all yours, for as long as you want me.” 

“Happily ever after?”

“Happily ever after. One brick at a time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Again, please do drop me comments if you like what you read! Even if I don't respond to them, you have no idea how much they make my day!)


End file.
